


Easily Caught

by Ravenheart



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Banter, Claustrophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Trapped In Elevator, but also thirsty, kinda fluffy maybe?, silver pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23997169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenheart/pseuds/Ravenheart
Summary: Written for the Black Sails Confinement Challenge.Original prompt:Place: an elevator in an office buildingReason: it broke down, nobody’s responding and it’s Friday nightMood: banter, arguing, enemies-to-friends-to-more?Extra: one of them isn’t feeling well because of a medical condition (can be claustrophobia) but is trying to hide it(Also: Silver is hungry in more ways than one, he really needs to start listening to his therapist, and being trapped in an elevator might be the universe yelling at him to quit his job. Or maybe that's just Flint doing the yelling.)
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 20
Kudos: 142
Collections: Black Sails Confinement Challenge





	Easily Caught

**Author's Note:**

> Hope I did the prompt justice! Had a lot of fun writing it :).

Under the harsh lights of his prison cell, Silver sent his last email and firmly reminded himself to quit as soon as something better came up. Granted, he'd been telling himself that for well over a year and there he was, slaving away on a Friday night, but that didn't stop him from repeating it like a mantra in his head. Once one of his manuscripts got picked up, he would be able to settle for a job with a lower salary that would in turn reward him with a higher will to live. 

Maybe. 

Hopefully.

A man could dream, alright?

He grabbed his messenger bag, which looked as battered as Silver felt, and set off with his crutch under his arm, already thinking of the pizza he'd get on the way to later devour in front of the TV. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and his stomach had not let him forget it for a single second.

He'd have wagered he was the only one left at such a hellish hour, but as he was making his way to the elevator he noticed the door slowly beginning to close. He pressed on, not really in the mood to have to wait for the only functioning deathtrap to return. He reached the door just as a hand shot out to hold it for him.

"Thank you," he said reflexively as he got on and pressed the already lit up button.

"Sure," came a raspy voice that Silver recognized at once and made him turn to look at his elevator companion in surprise.

He only had a brief moment to dwell on the fact that Flint had done something nice for him when the lights flickered and faded; not even a second later, a faint whirring sound followed by an audible clank, and the elevator stopped altogether.

"What the fuck did you touch?" Flint's anger boomed from Silver's right.

Now this was familiar territory. "I didn't do anything!"

"It was working just fine until you got here. Which fucking button did you push?" He always sounded so royally offended at the universe and everything in it, and yet there was something about his voice that made Silver want to put that mouth to better use. He certainly wasn’t lacking ideas in that department.

Right. They were supposed to be arguing. "Yours, apparently," Silver mumbled.

"I'm being serious, you shit." 

"So am I." He took a deep breath, pointedly not thinking about the size of the elevator or how the walls suddenly seemed significantly closer than a couple of seconds earlier even if he could not see them. His claustrophobia was mild enough that he preferred the elevator when weighed against trudging up and down the stairs with his crutch, but if they were stuck there—

No. That wasn't in the cards. He was going to go home and eat his pizza on the couch like he'd been looking forward to all day, and he was most certainly not going to be locked in close quarters with a man who stirred thoughts of hate fucking on a regular basis.

His musings were interrupted by a dim light that Silver realized was coming from Flint's phone as he looked at the elevator panel. He pressed ineffectively at a button, then another, and eventually groaned and said, "Of course it doesn't work. Why would anything in this soul-sucking dump actually work?"

"Everyone's left already," Silver thought aloud. "Is there an emergency contact listed on that thing?" He took a step closer to Flint to look at the sign himself.

"You try that," Flint told him. "I'm calling 911."

Fuck. "Is that really necessary?" He asked as he took out his phone and tried the maintenance number. Nothing. The call wouldn't even connect. He tried once more, and yet another one in case three was in fact a lucky number, but at last he accepted defeat and shook his head at Flint.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Repeat.

"—ith my colleague John Silver. Trapped in an elevator. Third floor of Rogers Tower—"

Silver tuned out the rest, trying to convince himself that there was no need to worry just because they'd had to call 911. Yes, it was an emergency, but not of the deadly kind. They'd be fine. Absolutely fine. He’d be eating pizza in no time and he’d even have something to tell Max over lunch in a couple of days. No problem at all.

He just had to remind his lungs of that. 

And also perhaps his hands. 

Shit.

There was a low buzzing noise, and suddenly the emergency lights were on. They weren't nearly as bright as one would expect, but it sure beat their phones, so Silver chose to take it as a good sign.

He had to hold onto something, did he not? 

"What do you mean _not a priority_?" Flint raged before going quiet as he listened to the operator. "I—" He sighed, resigned. "I understand."

To hell with good signs, apparently.

Flint hung up and turned to look at him, shaking his head as he explained, "There's been an explosion in a nearby factory and the fire's carried to the neighboring buildings, so it’s all hands on deck. They'll send someone as soon as they can, but we're both healthy and seemingly not under enough risk to warrant immediate help."

Great. Just—great. They were trapped in a tiny metal box with no windows, barely any light, and no certainty of rescue. "Doomed to die on an empty stomach with a man who hates me," he mumbled bitterly. He hadn't even been published yet!

Flint rolled his eyes. "We're not going to die, Silver."

"You didn't deny the last part, though."

An incredulous eyebrow and the barest upturn of his lips. "Pardon me. I assumed your concern over imminent death was more pressing than my alleged contempt for you."

God, he was insufferable. Silver hated himself a little bit for wanting to see him naked so badly. He hated himself even more, however, for needing Flint's approval. "So you _don't_ hate me?"

Flint crossed his arms, a few strands of hair falling over his eyes as he cocked his head to look at Silver pointedly. "Why would it even matter? It's not like you haven't charmed literally every single person in this building." He sneered, "I'd be impressed if you weren't so full of shit."

That caught him off guard. "Excuse me?"

"Although I suppose I admire your talent for deception," he acquiesced. "Your stories. How many of them are actually true?"

"All of them," he said, unconsciously mirroring Flint's defensive posture.

"Right." He gave him a lopsided smile that made Silver want to punch him and press him up against the elevator wall, emergency be damned. Fuck, he truly had a gorgeous mouth. And that beard of his— "How many happened to _you_?"

Ah. Well. 

Opting for deflection, he said, "I didn't know you cared enough to listen."

"Your voice carries. You know, like the plague."

"Is that so?" Silver licked his lips and decided it was time for a tactical retreat, if only to stop himself from doing something stupid like kissing him. He bit the inside of his cheek and replied, "Lucky for you, I'm in no mood to talk tonight." Then he took a step back and realized exactly just how close the walls were.

Flint snorted, starting to take off his navy blue suit jacket as he said, "I give you ten minutes before you start going off about whatever happened to your uncle's neighbor or your roommate's girlfriend."

Silver watched silently as Flint arranged the coat on the floor, then sat down and loosened the collar of his crisp white shirt. How did he manage to look so put together after an entire day in such a hell hole? It almost seemed like he was in the middle of a photoshoot, hands casually draped over his knees and just a couple of rebel locks that somehow translated into the promise of fucking against a desk.

When Flint started messing with his sleeves and Silver caught a glimpse of freckled forearm, he made the executive decision to avoid looking in that direction altogether.

He took off his own jacket and dropped it with none of Flint's finesse, then lowered himself slowly and settled with his side against the wall and his leg stretched. He wasn't exactly giving his back to Flint, but the message was clear enough.

He needed to concentrate on breathing and staying calm; he had no energy to spare for Flint's forearms at the moment. He tried to focus on the positive, which more or less came down to the dimensions of the elevator. Yes, it was dim and windowless, and he wouldn't have called it big, but it was spacious enough for both of them to lie down comfortably if they so desired. Not that Silver _wanted_ to lie down with Flint next to him, of course, but it did provide some measure of comfort to think of the possibility of being fully able to stretch his limbs if things became too suffocating.

Focusing on the bright side, however, didn't last very long, seeing as there was only so much comfort one could draw from one pro and about ten cons.

A few minutes into steadily spiraling into despair, Silver saw movement from the corner of his eye and was curious despite himself.

"Here." Flint extended a water bottle at him. "You look like you need it."

"I'm fine."

"Already lying again?" Flint shook his head. "Take it. I have another one, if that's what worries you."

Silver ignored the jab and hesitantly took the proffered bottle, his fingers brushing against Flint and reminding him exactly how much he wanted to touch him. Damn it all to hell, was he _that_ touch-starved? Maybe he should bring it up during his next session.

He probably wouldn't.

He took a tiny sip, then another, worried that a new wave of panic would hit him just as he drank.

"I normally go to the gym on Friday nights," Flint supplied apropos of nothing.

"Beg pardon?"

"That's why I have two bottles on me, in case you were wondering."

"I see." And he did see. Very much. That shirt was incredibly tight on Flint's shoulders; in fact, it might have been a size too small. "Don't suppose you have food on you, by any chance?"

Flint raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"What? I didn't get to eat a burger bigger than my ego for lunch, unlike some people."

He let out an amused bark of laughter at that, which pleased Silver way too much. "I have an apple and a granola bar, but we should probably hold off on those in case we're stuck here overnight."

Silver turned to look at him fully, "Shit. You really think so?"

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded once. "The operator didn't sound very optimistic, and it's a Friday night. We might have to embrace the idea."

Shit. No. No no no. He was not embracing anything. There was no way he could be trapped inside those walls for hours. What if nobody came tomorrow, either? What if the operator was so tired that they forgot to send someone? What if they sent help to the wrong address? Had Flint specified where they were? Had he—?

" _Silver_ ," Flint sounded urgent and soft at once, but Silver couldn't see him. He couldn't see much of anything, actually. Shit, it was going to happen, wasn't it? And right in front of Flint.

"Silver, _breathe_." He could now vaguely make out Flint's face in front of his. There seemed to be no judgment, only worry. "Can you breathe with me?"

Silver could not, apparently, breathe with him.

"It's alright. We're going to be alright." His tone seemed genuine despite the layer of trepidation at Silver's reaction. "Take it easy. Try to focus on breathing. Nothing else. Breathe with me."

Silver blinked hard, forcing himself to concentrate on something enough for the rest to fade into the background. His eyes latched onto the rise and fall of Flint's chest, his ears holding onto the sound of purposely deep breaths.

"Good." Flint nodded as they kept breathing together. 

There was no elevator. No walls. Just Silver and Flint and breathing. No emergency. Just breathing.

His left hand stopped shaking.

No elevator.

No walls.

Just breathing.

Eventually, Flint asked, "Should we keep going?" 

He nodded, then forced out, "Better. But not done."

"Alright." 

So they kept breathing. A magnificent thing, air. So essential. So overlooked until it was denied. 

Hands, too, were interesting. Shaking, and then not.

Shaking. 

Breathing.

Not shaking.

Breathing.

At some point, he could breathe normally again, and he closed his eyes, exhausted and grateful.

"Thank you," he murmured, wanting to rest his head but needing to be away from the wall. He didn’t need the reminder again.

Something must have shown in his posture, because he heard movement as Flint shuffled and suggested, "Why don't you lie down? I'll throw a sweater over my bag so you can use it as a pillow."

"I'll take up too much room," he protested weakly, eyes still firmly shut. The truth was that the offer sounded tempting. He was even inclined to listen to his therapist for once and try a visualization exercise.

"Don't worry about it. There's more than enough space for us both. Just—what do you need?"

Swallowing his pride, he gritted out, "Help me lie down? I don't—I don't want to open my eyes."

"Can I put my hand on your shoulder?" Silver nodded, and felt a warm hand settle firmly, guiding him to rotate to the left. "Okay. Now slowly down."

And so he did, feeling lost but oddly safe at the same time. Despite the obvious hardness of the bag, the soft feeling of the sweater against his neck was grounding and welcomed.

"I'm calling 911 again," Flint said, and Silver shot out his hand blindly, aiming for his arm but smacking him square on the chest instead.

"Shit, sorry." He removed his hand quickly. "Don't bother. We can't be clogging the line if things are that bad out there."

Flint sighed in what Silver took as reluctant agreement. "You should have told me."

"It's not exactly something to advertise," he let out angrily.

"You can go back to being contrary when we get out of here, okay? Until then, no more arguing."

"Me, contrary? _Please_. Kettle, pot."

"I feel like you're proving my point." Silver thought he sensed amusement in his tone. "Do you need anything else? Would music help, perhaps? I have a full battery."

"I—" But he cut himself off, embarrassed. He wasn't good at showing weakness in front of others, and he felt like he'd already surpassed his yearly quota in less than an hour.

"Whatever you're worrying about, don't."

Maybe this was the final push he needed to quit. He could picture it in his head; cause of resignation: revealed too much of self to attractive colleague, had to leave country at once. 

In for a penny, in for a pound. "Could you find beach sounds? I'm going to try a visualization technique I've never done before. I'm guessing that might help."

"Of course."

Flint was being so amenable about the whole thing that Silver didn't know if it made everything better or worse. Better in the immediate sense, sure, but at what cost? He'd ceased to be just an arrogant and overqualified dick that Silver occasionally targeted for verbal sparring. Suddenly he carried granola bars and extra water bottles. Suddenly he knew how to handle Silver's panic. Suddenly he was thoughtful and kind and, quite frankly, even more unfairly attractive.

Silver didn't just want to kiss his way down his chest and fist his hands into his hair. Shit. He wanted to invite him over for pizza and make out lazily on the couch.

He was screwed.

The gentle sound of waves started just as Silver felt a tentative hand on his elbow to get his attention. "Good?"

"Yeah." He licked his lips, his body hyperaware.

"I'll leave my hand here." He tapped Silver's elbow for a moment. "If anything's wrong and we need to get you up to help you breathe or whatever else, just squeeze my hand. Got it?"

"Got it," he echoed.

Then he let the waves help him conjure up a wide, welcoming beach. His therapist had told him that he was supposed to visualize someplace safe or loved, but since he had none, he settled for the next best thing: an open space, away from crowds and noise and walls. The grounding smell of salt, the lulling drawl of waves, the expansiveness of a pink and purple horizon unfolding before him. 

Was it working? It might have been working. Would talking help or distract him? Would touch help? He remembered vaguely that it was supposed to help. There wasn't much to touch, except the cold floor beneath his fingertips. Except maybe—

Fine. But he was definitely quitting afterwards.

"Can I—" Inhale. Hold. Exhale. "Shit. Can I hold your hand?"

"Is something wrong?" Flint asked even as Silver felt tentative fingers brush against his palm.

He shook his head minutely and gingerly took hold of his hand as he whispered, "You can say no, you know? If it makes you uncomfortable—"

"It does not," he cut him off, squeezing his hand lightly. "In all honesty, I think you've inadvertently given me a way to calm myself down in the process."

"So you're alright?" He tried not to feel guilty; he had been so focused on himself that he hadn't even thought about how the entire situation might have been affecting Flint.

He wanted to open his eyes and _look_ at him, but the impulse wasn't worth the risk of undoing their progress. 

"Glad I'm not alone," Flint said.

"Me too." He wasn't even going to dwell on the absolute hell that it would have been to endure this on his own.

"Even if you're stuck with me?" He was teasing him, but there seemed to be a genuine question behind it.

 _Especially because I'm stuck with you,_ he didn't say. They very much weren't there yet. "My previous assessment of you might not have been entirely accurate." That was as much as he was willing to admit.

"Hmm," Flint said simply.

They went quiet after that, the sounds of a calm shore washing over them as they waited for time to pass. Flint's thumb began to trace absent circles on his wrist, which had Silver relaxing further even as it dawned on him that this was something he'd been missing for a while; the contact, the closeness, the comfort.

"Can I ask you a question?" Flint's slurred voice made Silver think he was fighting sleep. It appeared that music was truly helping them both, which made him feel slightly less ashamed of his request.

"Yes?"

"Why lie to them? You're clearly well-liked for a lot more than your stories. Hands and Muldoon would probably take a stapler to the head for you."

"They only like me because they don't know me."

"I find that hard to believe." His thumb stopped, and Silver mourned it immensely. "I think you don't _want_ them to know you, yet you slip sometimes, and that's what draws people to you. Not the played up version of you, but the genuine you." More quietly, he added, "Like now."

Silver inhaled sharply, at a loss for words at where Flint was going. "It's kind of unfair to spring up such a conversation on a man while he's lying defenceless with his eyes closed, Flint."

A soft chuckle. "I suppose you're right. But it's not like we'd be having this conversation at all under different circumstances. Or _any_ conversation, really." And why did he sound regretful about that?

"I don't know what you're talking about. I literally never shut up." He could admit that.

"You talk plenty," he acknowledged. "You just never say anything of substance."

"Have you been talking to my therapist?" It truly sounded like something she would say. "And fuck you. I have plenty of substance, thank you very much."

"I'd love to see some of it someday." Flint murmured, and Silver had the wild thought that he was being hit on rather than insulted.

Or maybe both?

"Perhaps you'd see it if you weren't so busy yelling at me all the time."

"I only yell when I'm right," he said matter-of-factly. "Which just happens to be quite often."

"Here's an idea," he paused for effect. "You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar."

"Whoever said that had never seen the effects of vinegar." Flint snorted. "And you'd be the fly in this scenario? I doubt you're so easily caught." Even with his eyes closed, Silver could see the cocky grin Flint was sporting.

"Depends on who's doing the catching," he murmured, unable to stop himself. This was definitely flirtatious territory. Abort? Proceed? What a fucking inconvenient setting to act upon whatever was brewing.

As if in answer to his complaint, there was a sudden humming sound. A moment later, Silver sensed through his eyelids that the real lights were back on. There came that faint mechanic noise again, and soon enough the elevator was descending as if nothing had happened.

"It's moving," Flint said as he tapped him lightly on the shoulder. 

Silver opened his eyes to find him staring back at him, his hair wilder than Silver remembered, as if he'd been absently running his hand through it. Two buttons of his shirt had been unbuttoned, too, leaving enough neck exposed to tempt Silver into action.

They were still in that cursed metal box, however, so that needed to be fixed before anything else was on the table.

If he played his cards right, he might be treated to more than one meal that night.

He got up, briefly using Flint's hand for leverage. He grabbed his crutch and bag just as the doors dinged open, and Flint made a silent gesture for Silver to go first. 

He wasn't about to argue about _that_.

Once they were both safely on the ground floor, Silver realized the doors to the building would be locked and so they'd still be stuck inside.

"How the fuck are we going to get out?" He turned to Flint only to find him rummaging through his bag. "You've got a hammer in there or something?"

"Better," he said, and made a satisfied noise as he brandished a shiny metal key. "I'll just open the door like a civilized person."

How the fuck did Flint have the key? "How the fuck do you have the key?"

"Might have stumbled upon a copy once and forgot to return it."

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal," he said slowly, even as he felt something inside him stir at the thought. 

A quirked eyebrow. "Oh, I'm quite certain it is." He grinned, then licked his lips and walked away, leaving Silver speechless for once.

He trailed after him, and soon enough they were finally outside, as free as someone living in the city could hope to be.

He turned to Flint, trying to come up with a line that would work, but he went still at the openly assessing look in his eyes.

"What?" He asked warily.

"I seem to recall you were starving."

Hope bloomed in Silver's chest. "Famished."

"Could I interest you in sharing a meal big enough for our combined egos?" A smirk, the fire in those green eyes drawing Silver in.

He bit his lip and took a step closer to Flint. "I'll settle for cheap anything if the night ends with me in your bed."

For a second he feared he'd been too forward, gone too far, but then Flint's eyes _truly_ burned, his smile all but predatory as he whispered, "So you _are_ that easily caught."

Silver returned the smile, leaning impossibly closer to say, "Took you long enough to fucking notice." And then he closed what was left of the distance between them, one hand firmly holding onto his crutch as the other lost itself in Flint's hair, lips on lips and that magnificent beard finally meeting his skin.


End file.
